


rattle my bones (you turn me over and over)

by fireflyslove



Series: You (Good Omens) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), D/s undertones, M/M, POV Second Person, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 10:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflyslove/pseuds/fireflyslove
Summary: Aziraphale fucks Crowley against a bookshelf aaaaand you're Crowley, congrats!Or:Pornography





	rattle my bones (you turn me over and over)

**Author's Note:**

> For ShrimpHeaven’sfinestAngel who requested the Crowley POV sequel, well here you go, you goaded me into it, I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.
> 
> Title from Matt Nathanson's Faster, which I've just realized is about oral sex so that's fun.

Your wings are spread wide, one wrapped around you as you idly pluck the dust from the feathers. In the dim light of the bookshop’s backroom, they’re soot black, but if someone saw you in the sunlight, they’d be like crow’s feathers, iridescent, shot through with blue and purple and red. There’s a bucket on the floor filled with half-broken feathers, the odd bits of dirt, and, weirdly, one of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies on an index card. The sensation of grooming your wings is a bit like the feeling you get when you comb your hair, a gentle tugging, but most of the feeling is coming from your hands. 

However, when a certain angel steals (rather  _ miraculously _ ) silently up behind you and slides one hand into your hair and the other into the downy feathers at the base of the wing not in your hand, you give a full body shudder. 

“You shouldn’t have those out where any human could see, Crowley,” Aziraphale says in a low voice. It’s not actually an admonishment. 

“Oh, I’m just tempting fate,” you say. Your voice definitely doesn’t quaver as he runs his fingernails along your scalp and under your feathers.

“That’s not all you’re  _ tempting _ ,” Aziraphale says. 

“I swear I’m not trying, angel,” you say.

“Oh I know,” Aziraphale says. “But you’re just so pretty, and I do love you so. It’s easy to be tempted. So easy to just give in and touch you.”

You’ve heard the compliments from his mouth a hundred times, but that doesn’t stop you from flushing furiously. 

The hand in your hair moves down your face, brushing over your throat until it’s flush against your chest, just over your rapidly beating heart. He gives a little tug and your back is pressed against his chest, every button on his waistcoat standing out in cool sharp relief against your overheated skin. The lack of frock coat buttons confuses you for just a moment until you glance down and find that, yes, he’s taken it off, and more to the point, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Clearly he’s planning  _ something _ .

“Angel?” you ask.

“Yes, dear?” he replies.

“Did you lock the door?”

He hums something that could be an affirmation… but it also might be a negative. 

You find you don’t really care as the hand in your wing glides through the feathers, lighting nerve endings, sending electric signals down your spine.

His lips latch onto the place where your neck joins your shoulder, and he nibbles just the smallest bit. He kisses across the back of your neck to the other shoulder, and there he sucks a love bite that has you whimpering by the time he lets the skin go. 

Meanwhile, the hand on your chest has found your nipples, and yep, those are gonna be sensitive today. You buck up, and into his chest. His chuckle vibrates into your skin. 

Then he’s got both arms around you and he’s tugging you up. There’s no use resisting, he’s an Angel of the Lord, he’s incredibly strong. You go willingly, and he repositions you so you’re facing the bookshelves, able to peep through the stacks to the shop proper. He hasn’t closed the window shades. 

Aziraphale’s hands come around, tugging at your belt, and then he sighs, an exasperated noise that sends a frisson of pleasure up your back. He snaps his fingers and the rest of your clothes disappear, either actually dissolved into the aether (that had only happened once), or more likely, returned to the drawer upstairs next to the bed. 

He crowds into your space, still fully clothed himself. His pocketwatch is cold against your skin and you shiver. 

“Now, darling, as much as I love your wings, would you be a dear and pop them away for just a bit?” he asks. 

And yeah, you can do that. It takes more concentration than you thought you had, but there’s an inaudible  _ pop  _ and they’re out of the mortal plane. 

Aziraphale presses himself closer, his nose buried in the hair at the back of your neck. You have an image of your hair spilling against his, long crimson locks twined with cloud-pale curls.

His hands slide down your chest, down your stomach, leaving overstimulated nerves in their wake. One wraps around to keep you flush against the plush length of him, his cock evident in his pants, hot against your ass. The other, well, lately you’ve discovered that Aziraphale is a  _ tease. _ He flirts his fingers just over the tip of your cock, and your hips buck futilely. 

“So impatient,” he murmurs, humor in his voice. 

“Ang _ elllll, _ ” you whine.

“Patience is a virtue, my dear,” he says in a singsong voice.

“I’m a  _ demon _ ,” you protest.

“Of course you are. The most ferocious, I know.”

You hiss at him, but it loses all ferocity as he grips your cock properly, giving it a firm tug that sends your voice up a few octaves.

“That’s what I thought.” How in the  _ fuck _ is he still so coherent?

It takes only moments until you feel the fingers of pleasure licking up your spine like hellfire without the bite. 

“Zzziraphale, gonna, gonna” you say, and then he pulls his hand back, dropping all contact beyond the bar of his arm across your chest. 

“Uh uh uh,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Not yet you aren’t.”

He pulls his hips away from you, and you can feel the back of his hand on your ass as he unbuttons his pants, cursing just a little as he does so. 

Then, (and he’s still fully clothed, mind you), he pulls his own cock out, and his breath shudders just a little. He kicks your feet gently and you move to accommodate him. 

Normally he might take his time with you, the human way. But right now, neither of you are human, and sometimes it’s just inconvenient to wait. So when he sinks into you, you’re ready for him, slick and open. 

“Crowley,” he sighs, drawing the last vowel out.

You bite down on your arm, still braced against the bookshelf to keep from shouting, and he begins to move. It’s overwhelming, and you lose track of time for a while, your world narrowed down to just the two of you, and the feeling of him moving inside you.

Then the world snaps back into bright focus and his movements are becoming jerkier. The hand returns to your cock, and the pleasure shoots up your spine, bright angelic sparks of electricity. 

“Ah-ah-ahzzziraphaaaale,” you hiss as you come.

He bites into your shoulder, hips snapped up tight against your ass as he comes seconds after you, spilling deep inside. 

Neither of you seems to have much in the way of stability in the following moments, so he sort of stumbles backward, sitting on the couch with you in his lap. He’s still inside you, and both of you are just a bit loathe to let go of this moment, so you lean back into him, resting your head alongside his on the back of the sofa. There’s a suspicious amount of feathers, black and white both, surrounding you, but more to the point, there’s the hazy golden afterglow. 

A while passes, and then you begin to grow uncomfortable and sticky. It takes another minor miracle (this one demonic) to clean up. You stand (Aziraphale groans at the loss of contact), and begin to reach for the clothes you were wearing before, when you think better of it. A thought summons a pair of soft flannel pants (in a tasteful black and grey tartan). 

You turn around, and Aziraphale is just tucking himself back into his pants. His lap, though, looks inviting. Denying yourself isn’t one of your talents, especially now that you’re allowed to have Aziraphale, so you throw your leg over his and sit back down in his lap, tucking your forehead into the crook of his neck. 

“What brought that on?” you ask quietly.

“Oh, nothing really,” he says, tunneling his fingers into your hair. “Just saw you and wanted you.”

“Hedonisssst,” you say, no venom in the statement.

“Guilty,” he says.

You smile and press a kiss into his neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found in a bucket of Crowley's feathers @fireflyslove


End file.
